Freedom
by bluewindranger
Summary: If she turned around, looking out from her peripheral vision, she could almost see a glowing blue spirit with a long wolftail, glowing with health—quite literally—and harnessing a large white polar bear dog, both of them sprinting across the still-unmarked snow, reveling happily in their painless, diseaseless freedom. One-shot.


**Author's Note:** I don't know why I wrote this. I did it while I was supposed to be doing my U.S. History notes at one in the morning, so don't expect quality.

Yep, there are hints of Makorra (I hate Mako, by the way...*runs away before screaming hoard of fangirls with cookie pans can kill*), and if you want, veiled, very thin Korrasami.

Cross-posted from ASN with a few edits.

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**Title:** Freedom  
**Rating:** T  
**Words:** 619  
**Genre:** Tragedy/Friendship**  
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Avatar Korra's funeral is splendid and bittersweet in its arrays of midnight blue cloth and little soft bits of icy snow, drifting down from the heavens as if the skies themselves are weeping frozen tears. A very ostentatious, very formal event that Asami is sure that the Avatar would have not liked one bit.

Even at the age of twenty-five, the Avatar still had that rebellious streak inside of her, the light of a child in her blue eyes. That bright spark in her gaze, the spark of love, the spark of life.

Asami was sure that the light would never truly go away. Ever.

She had never expected that light to be snuffed out so soon. No one had, to be frank, but then the diagnosis came, the world came crashing down and burned around those who knew her best.

Oh, it wasn't totally unexpected. Korra had been ailing for weeks. She was very pale most of the time, there was a discernible wobble to her step, and she began to look sickly and frail—not what an Avatar in her prime years should look like at all.

None of them had ever found out what it was that caused her to weaken like this, but by the time one of them had the courage to ask, it was too late.

When Asami had woken up at two o'clock in the morning to Korra's still-warm, still-feverish hand curling tightly around her wrist, she hadn't been prepared for the look in the Avatar's eyes. It was calm and clear. The same shade of blue that Asami was used to, but it was different. The spark, she could sense, was still there, but it was rapidly fading away, away, away into the dark, into the Spirit World. Labored breathing had filled the air.

Asami screamed, bringing the doctors running.

But it was late, too late, and there was one last gentle squeeze from the Avatar before the weak grip went slack completely.

She hadn't been prepared for the look in the Avatar's eyes. It was clean and stagnant. The same shade of blue that Asami was used to, but it was missing something. The spark, she could sense, was gone. Gone and away, away, away into the dark, into the Spirit World. A hushed silence had filled the air.

Mako had came peeling in five minutes later, still in his flannel striped pajamas and fluffy slippers, his face red with exertion as he crossed over the Korra's still, motionless body.

Asami had never seen Mako cry so hard before. (She'd never seen him cry before, period.)

Bolin was mute for a week. Noodles had mysteriously disappeared at an alarming rate from the kitchen cupboard.

Senna and Tonraq were also, obviously, affected very much from the loss of their beloved daughter and an Avatar.

Naga was pining for her dead master terribly, and nobody knew how to stop her, not even Bolin or Jinora, and Korra's animal companion eventually disappeared into a snowstorm a few weeks after the incident. The polar bear dog's body was found a few days later buried in a five-foot-deep snow drift, her fur frozen, her dark eyes wide and lifeless.

The spark...

Well...it would not be _entirely_ snuffed out.

It would just reborn.

And, after the funeral, Asami feels something warm brush her cheek, and the odd sound of a breathy laugh drift pasts her ear. If Asami turned around, looking out from her peripheral vision, she could almost see a glowing blue spirit with a long wolftail, glowing with health—quite literally—and harnessing a large white polar bear dog, both of them sprinting across the still-unmarked snow, reveling happily in their painless, diseaseless freedom.


End file.
